


There’s Life Yet

by batisnotsafeforwork



Series: Possible Continuations [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: A tester to see if it’s worth pursuing longform fanfic for, AU where hybrids are a rare thing, Bottom Hank Anderson, Dog Hybrid Hank Anderson, Hank uses it pronouns for androids, Hybrid Hank Anderson, Implied/Referenced Forced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Slavery, Mishandling of serious topics similar to how DBH did, Other, Suspension of disbelief similar to canon DBH needed, aka I spent time on it which I now regret because I’m thinking too hard about it, author will try their best to retcon this, un-betaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 08:18:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16472036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batisnotsafeforwork/pseuds/batisnotsafeforwork
Summary: Hank is an old dog hybrid kidnapped and captive for a couple years and run ragged through hybrid trafficking rings. Sitting in the latest hybrid pound after being chewed up and spit out by the latest owner, Hank’s certain he’d die this way.Until one day, that changes.





	There’s Life Yet

**Author's Note:**

> First of many one shots with possible continuations.
> 
> Please heed the warnings. 
> 
> Thank you for your time.

Hank’s tail swished sluggishly against the concrete floor he was curled on. Cropped ears swivelling where the noises were, picking up short clips of muffled conversation that trickled into the back room he was held in.

His eyes were closed, resting and still so that he couldn’t see the bars of the cage. 

It’s been too long since he’s been treated with dignity. All cages looked the same. 

The hybrid pound he’s in was a sparse one, a blessing because that meant there were less of his kind trapped like he was, and a curse because the cages beside him were empty. The isolation deprived him of even more humanity. 

Hank is an old dog. He knows that not a lot of people in the market for dogs like him. He knows he doesn’t have long to live. He does find himself wishing that he wouldn’t have to die in a pound like this. 

His ears twitch when the quiet buzz of the electrical lock sounded. A rare sound but one that filled him with dread. 

Still he doesn’t move from where he’s curled up, only opening one eye to have a peek at whoever just walked through the door. 

It was a young man around his thirties. Tall with brown hair. But then the man tilted his head just so and Hank saw the LED.

His ears perked up. Beside him, Hank’s tail slowed to a stop. 

Hank closed his eyes once again, burrowing his face in his arms. Androids were almost as plentiful as people. From what he’s seen, some of his owners had owned some Traci models and sold them alongside him.

Used them on him even. 

The android that came in didn’t look like any of the models he’d seen before. It could just be a customised model or it could be a newer one fresh off the shelf of Cyberlife. 

He wonders what its owner is looking for.

Hank slows his breathing, pretending to be asleep. People who come to these carefully hidden hybrid pounds were always here for illegal shit. Probably looking for a younger thing that’ll mewl when fucked. Hank’s just been unlucky that he’s been under some sick fucks that got their rocks off using ugly old mutts like him.

The android was a pretty young thing from what Hank saw of it. So Hank pretends to sleep. The owner must want to add more to their collection of pretty young things.

His ears were pressed flat against his skull but Hank could still hear the android’s footsteps on the hard concrete floor. The steady light thudding of expensive shoes grew louder as the android made its way closer and closer to his cage.

He couldn’t help when his heart started to rabbit in his chest when the android stopped right in front of his cage.

Hank tries to swallow down the panic that spiked in his chest. He’d been under someone not too long ago. He doesn’t want to die behind bars but he’d rather die in a pound than under the possession of another sick bastard.

The android was talking to the owner of the pound and Hank took another peek at it from under his lashes.

The android was well kept. It was wearing a regular uniform showing off its serial number, an AP700 from what Hank could see. He’s seen some AP700s in his time under different masters, but rarely has he seen one who held itself like a soldier, wearing expensive shoes alongside the standard issue cyberlife uniform. Hank had a feeling that it definitely wore something better most of the time.

_Most of the time when it didn’t have to do its owner’s dirty work and buy hybrids from illegal pounds._

Dread was pooling deep in his belly. AP700s were used for housework only. Hank’s judgement of its owner wanting a pretty young thing was wrong. 

It was another sicko interested in using old mutts like him. 

Hank curls in on himself some more.

His cage was opened and the pound owner grabs him by the back of his collar. Hank drops all pretense of sleep and gets on his hands and knees to prevent himself from choking. 

He quietly follows as he’s pulled out of the cage and deposited at the feet of the android. 

The pound owner tugs at his clothes, showing the android all the scars he’d gotten in captivity.

It was stacking high, the reasons nobody should want used goods like him, but the android just nodded.

Hank was dragged to the back of the pound where the owner offered to do any final customisations, listing out all the things they could do. It was a whole song and dance that Hank particularly hated. Hank’s been dehumanised too many times this way, pulled at and pinched by disgruntled workers and later emotionless androids as they groomed him to his owner’s liking. It was too common for an owner to want him looking like he did back in his Red Ice Task Force days. Irrationally, he’s glad that none of them decided to dock his tail. This particular pound owner though was laying the sales babble on thick, so much so that the android looks almost uncomfortable.

The android looked over the options before finally deciding on an easy customisation, if only to get the pound owner to stop the onslaught of sales pitches, choosing a deep blue for his collar. _Blue like thirium spilled fresh all over him._ Hank curls his tail tighter against himself at the sharp burst of sense memory. Holds still enough for the pound owner to change the colour of his previously white collar to the desired blue. 

Hank bared his neck when the owner came to administer the drug to knock him out for transport. He’d been beaten down too many times and his fight had left him several owners ago.

He kept his eyes down and lets himself give in to the drug.

He wakes up to the sound of gunfire. 

Hank was in what felt like a cushioned crate, curled on his side with oxygen pumping steadily from a machine quietly humming right next to him.

This wasn’t the first time he’d awoken in the middle of transport and he couldn't help but feel grateful that it wasn’t another suitcase he was stuffed inside.

His ears twitch again when he hears shouting. He strains to hear it, remembering that a gun had gone off. He couldn’t help but think of the android that purchased him. Wonders briefly if the expensive model was bringing him back to another violent crime boss Hank pissed off so many years ago.

Wonders if they got caught in a gunfight.

But Hank only heard the one shot and all he could hear right now was a lot of angry shouting. Angry shouting that was slowly going away...? 

Hank jolts when the crate hisses following the loud sounds of the latches snapping open.

He squeezes his eyes shut against the sudden assault of lights in his eyes. He forced himself to blink, needing to figure out what was going on. Something moved to block out the light from hitting his eyes and Hank found himself focusing on it. 

Hank sees blue.

He feels his joints locking up as panic sets in his bones.

_God. So much blue._

But he’s brought back from it by a hand resting warmly on his wrist. It was a warmth deprived from him so long ago. He loosens the fist he’d made under that warm hand and he finds himself focusing on it.

The hand was connected to the android from before and Hank could see that the blue was from a small gash in his shoulder where it looked like a bullet clipped it.

Not so much blue after all. 

The android was moving its lips and Hank could finally focus on what it was saying, ears flipping up when he finally caught on to what the android said.

“-ere you go Lieutenant Anderson. You’re safe now.”

He hadn’t been called that in ages. Not in that way anyways.

_What?_ Hank mouthed, voice unable to escape where it lay disused for too long in his throat. Thankfully, the android caught on.

“My name is Connor.” The android smiles, warm and comforting. And Hank could almost mistake it for human. On his wrist, the android had begun moving its thumb back and forth, almost soothing. Almost comforting even. 

“I’m working with the DPD.” Connor says, thumbs still stroking Hank’s wrist. “We’re here to get you out.”


End file.
